


The Shell Collector

by ladyfun9



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Faberry Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:38:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfun9/pseuds/ladyfun9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that, as told through flashbacks,  a defervesce into occasional smut, and glances in the lives of her fellow gleeksters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I originally uploaded at fan fiction, but apparently its not possible to upload via links anymore to this site, so I am manually doing so. If you want it in real time, its at   
> http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9620082/1/The-Shell-Collector  
> However, I love this site (home of TheMemoriesFire) and wanted to upload here as well, because I'm partial to this story....this is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this story to work.

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: All audiences-for this chapter only. Then it will defervesce into my usual amalgam of inappropriateness and M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this to work for me. (Don't beat me, I'm still a card carrying Pezberrian—Just not today)

PROLOGUE:

"Over Hereeee! Please Rachel!"

Flash.

"Smile, Princess Gwendolyn!"

Flash.

"Hey! Here!"

Flashes, everywhere.

This would blind the novice, surely. The worst part? The noise. People always underestimate the noise. It's almost impossible to hear the guiding words of someone standing right next to you, ushering you to where you need to go, stand, and smile over the din and crackle of the hubris and the screaming onlookers.

Rachel sighed, and steeled her nerves. She turned on the megawatt charm once she was guided to the mark, and prepared herself for the different iteration of the same question.

"It's a big night for you, tonight, Miss Berry. Did you ever expect to be on Hollywood's biggest stage after years on the Broadway stage?"

Rachel glanced at the questioner, speculating to herself if that was a sunburn versus a chemical peel gone awry on the plastic man.

"No, certainly not. It's just an honor to be here." She replied with her practiced humility.

Broadway's Sweetheart couldn't be anything but…sweet. Right?

"After a record seven-SEVEN! Tony nominations without a single win, are you nervous about your chances to take home your first Oscar -on your first nomination- here?"

No, you vapid dumb-ass. This doesn't mean anything compared to REAL acting in New York, Rachel thought to herself.

What she said, out loud, however, was something different.

"Naturally, I was as shocked as you people were that I was nominated! It was a real departure from what I normally do – but, it came along at the right time, and was…well, transformative for me at the time. I guess the Academy recognized that, as well. "

She added with a wink, "Fingers crossed."

She smiled as she prepared herself for the next version of the same question. The red carpet at the Tony's were so …. different. You would never get the same question twice, except about your dress. Half of the people were drunk, almost all would swear – extepting the perfunctory tight-ass sent by the New York Times—and usually the questions had some degree of raunch to them, especially from the gay men, all of whom LOOOOVED Rachel. Half the time, she wouldn't make it down the nominal carpet without laughing so hard she would be reduced to tears and her single "handler" would cluck and have to fix her makeup at some point that night. Usually, someone would break into song, either her or her interviewer.

Of course, that red carpet was never televised, and no one (read: the ignorant public) gave a shit about the Tony's, not really.

She missed it, the comfort of the familiar.

Now, here, she had three handlers, none of whom were hers. All were part of the studio juggernaut, all there to ensure Rachel conformed to what a Disney Princess was supposed to do, be, say, look like….and especially, appear like.

Don't hurt the brand, after all.

She was already filming the sequel, and god forbid Rachel give one of the typical bawdy answers expected of a Broadway affair, and create a sound bite Disney would have to wipe clean of social media the next day.

She smiled at the fans and waved. They went crazy. A small girl flashed a doll she was holding.

"Look Princess Gwen! You're my favorite toy!" She waved her doll emphatically.

When did I become a toy? Rachel Barbra Berry pondered to herself as they headed to the theatre amid more flashes.

XOXOX

"…and the best actress award goes to …woah!" The room tittered. The tuxedoed man continued, "it goes to…the lovely Princess Gwendolyn… Rachel Berry."

Rachel, sat, stunned. Her handlers jerked her up, motioning her toward the podium. She had expected to just have to sit there, politely smiling, through the perfunctory split screen while some other, more typical, and certainly more expected, Hollywood actress sauntered up to the stage. One who had actually had a challenging role, for example.

Suddenly, she found herself at the podium with literally a billion eyes worldwide looking at her.

She cleared her throat.

"Um…I don't think you're supposed to say 'woah,'"she said to her presenter.

A laugh rippled through the auditorium.

"However, I have full license to say it…woah. Woah, woah, woah! How did I get here?"

A second small laugh followed.

For the second time in her life, Rachel Barbara Berry was totally unprepared. She was supposed to win a Tony, for God's sake. She wasn't a movie actress. Yet, here she was, and a billion eyes were expecting her to say something other than… woah.

She smiled. "I think at this point, I should thank the Academy…so thank you. Thank you for ruining Oscar pools world wide this evening, including my own!"

Another laugh.

Her face turned serious. "Thank you to my fathers, one of whom is in Heaven, for never giving up on me. Thanks to Mr. Shusester, my high school Glee director, and fellow Glee clubbers, for frustrating and inspiring me. Um… I want to thank my mentor, Carmen Thibedoueax, for pushing me to be better. Thank you to my best NYADA teacher, Ms. July, for encouraging me to take the first role of Cat Rollins INSTEAD of Fanny Brice, which shaped my career into something I didn't expect at all, and of course, to Disney, for putting me here today and on the shelves of toy stores everywhere…"

Another laugh.

Rachel took a breath, she had rattled off almost all the mandatory thank-yous. She had ten seconds left. Ten seconds.

She exhaled.

"I think," she began slowly, "this movie, and really, my being here tonight, is about a common motif. "

She looked around the room, scanning the crowd. Her handlers looked nervous.

"Sometimes, despite all the best planning in the world, life doesn't go the way you expect. Sometimes, things are out of your control, and despite the most sincere effort, things….fall apart. They fall through your hands, like sand…and no matter how hard to try, you can't hold on."

She paused.

"And then you look down at the pile and say, 'why was I trying to hold on to that for so long?' And that's when you notice a shell lying next to the sand, and that beautiful thing is what you were actually supposed to find. As you pick it up, you wonder how you could have ever missed it in the first place. Princess Gwendolyn was like that for me…just like my protagonist, I never expected this turn of events. And yet, she fits me, and here I am. How could I ever have missed her? "

Three seconds.

"So thank you, everyone. And the lesson is, don't fight so hard for a prize you don't really want to win. Examine that pile of sand with a discerning eye. Remember what is important in this world—to you, and those around you. You never know when your shell is lying there on the beach, waiting for you to pick it up. So…for heaven's sakes…pick it up!"

Laughs morphed into thunderous applause. Rachel Berry had won over yet another crowd, without even singing a note. As she stepped away from the podium as the conductor was expectantly raising his baton, she winked at him. He lowered his baton, shocked. She was exactly 30 seconds.

He doesn't understand I do live theatre for my real job, she mused.

She slumped against the wall, holding the trophy in her hand. She knew she was in for a long night of more inane questions. Really, she never expected this role to amount to much. It wasn't unlike a million other offers she had previously turned down, but the timing was right, for once. It was a lot of money, it got her a break for a small bit away from New York, the pressures of carrying a show on her back—because, really, what name is bigger than Disney, after all? Most importantly, it was an escape from her failed marriage, and an opportunity to regroup. However, while Rachel wasn't paying attention and simply going through the motions, she had managed to turn what would have been a much lesser role into something really poignant. That transformation, in very unexpected packaging, simply… resonated.

And I wasn't even trying, she thought, ironically. Yet, parts I killed myself for…or starved myself for…or learned Italian …. Seven nights a week, two Sunday matinees….nothing! Then this…this Princess… Rachel shook her head.

Princess Gwendolyn. Her now iconic role.

As she lowered her trophy, her eyes drifted to the vacant indentation on her ring finger, and felt her anger bubble up again. Why was she still mad? She hadn't loved Finn for years. Years! So why was she still mad that it was over?

Was it just because of her pride, in stumbling upon his affair coming home from the theatre unexpectedly that made her upset? Was it because of resentment that she carried the family economically for years while he seemed to flit endlessly between school and careers? Was it anger because he wouldn't stop dating the other woman while they went to marriage counseling? What a joke that was! You can't go to marriage counseling with three people involved…

She should be grateful, really, that he had the affair with that dumb bitch. If he hadn't, you'd still be in there, trying to fix it. Make it right. Hold on to that pile of sand with my death grip. Rachel suddenly felt exhausted. She sighed. Why don't you do some honestification, Berry. Admit the truth, just once. Yes, you are mad that he was the one who had the guts to end it, and one upped you…but that's not the real reason. Admit the truth to yourself, just once. Holy fucksticks- what is the truth anymore?

Rachel suspected the truth was that she was, indeed, mad….mad at herself.

Rachel knew she had seen the shell. That beautiful, golden-haired shell…and she looked at it, recognized it, and dropped it back and dug for the sand anyway.

Now, here she was, full of resentment and bitterness.

She resented Finn for her own bad decisions. For her cowardice at not recognizing what she wanted. She was angry at her lost opportunity.

That probably wasn't fair to him, once again. Once again, Rachel Berry is NOT FAIR to Finn Hudson. Great. And you can't even be grateful, in this moment, of what you just accomplished. What's wrong with you, Berry?

Responding to her own internal dialogue, she thought, but HE'S the cause of my missed opportunity, right? My wasted chance. Nothing seems to sting as much as that does in life, she mused.

But…blaming Finn won't help you now, Berry….no one held a gun to your head. Lost in thought, her mind drifted back to the one other time she was speechless, the time she discovered the aforementioned shell…

And for the first time that night, Rachel Barbra Berry smiled.

Really smiled.

TBC.


	2. Seven Nods and Two Princesses

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: All audiences-for this chapter only. Then it will defervesce into my usual amalgam of inappropriateness and M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out. I'm sorry that I'm deviating from my Pezberry roots, folks, it just wouldn't work with Santana- she's just to self aware and has her shit together. I need more self-obtuse characters for this to work for me. (Don't beat me, I'm still a card carrying Pezberrian—Just not today)

CHAPTER ONE: Seven Nods and Two Princesses

The entire adult existence of the members of the Glee Club could be recounted through Rachel's seven Tony nominations, almost to a man.

NOMINATION ONE: Caprase.

Her first Tony nod was for her debut performance in "Caprase". She stretched herself, even learning Italian fluently, but unfortunately lost to a veteran who herself had not won despite five previous noms.

The morning after, over waffles, at their favorite greasy spoon from NYADA, "The Greasy Spoon," Ms. July –or "J" as Rachel affectionately called her, and the diva speculated together.

"Schwimmer, they had to give it to the MILF. She should have one last year. You got screwed." She said, matter of fatly.

"It's fine, J. It's my first role. More will come."

"What'd that lump of a husband of yours say? He looked constipated on TV the entire night."

"He said the tux was uncomfortable. That's about it."

Between noms one and two, Rachel got pregnant. And lost the baby in her first trimester. Kurt and Santana held her, as she cried in their arms.

"What did Finn say?" Kurt said, gently.

"Finn? Oh. I haven't told him, yet."

Santana and Kurt exchanged a knowing look, but said nothing. Santana gently stroked Rachel's back. "The body knows, Rachel. It knows if you're ready, or not. It's not your time…not yet. That's all."

She clung to her friends for dear life.

Later that week, Santana received news she was accepted into Harvard Law. The celebration was bittersweet for Rachel; she had come to depend on Santana as her main lifeline. She felt lost—but she knew it was a great opportunity for her dear friend.

"Hey, dwarf, relax! Boston is 3 hours away from here. I promise I will not abandon my post as Chief Hobbit Protector. I promise."

She clutched Rachel tighter as Rachel started sobbing.

"Rach, listen," she whispered quietly. "Look, you're all I have left. Between Quinn AND Brittany going MIA, you're it. You're the only one left that keeps me whole. I will never abandon you. I promise you."

She kissed the top of her head, and made good on her promise.

NOMINATION TWO: Fantine

Rachel had sunk into a depression when Santana left, and she stopped eating. It had the side effect of causing her to shed her baby fat, and then some. When she was offered the edgy retelling of Les Mis, the rock opera, "Fantine," she shocked people when she appeared as gaunt as she did.

Some speculated she was using drugs or worse.

However, the moment she took the stage, she was home again, and her voice was still a powerhouse. Her star was rising.

Fatine led to her second nomination, and her second loss. But she had enough clout to pull in some friends into her circle- she got Mike a job choreographing a stomp-like show, and Tina joined the chorus of "Kinky Boots".

The morning after her second loss, Mike and Tina joined J, Rachel, Kurt, and Santana for her rally breakfast at the Greasy Spoon.

"Eh…you were doomed from the start. No one likes Les Mis…they just pretend they do." Ms. July said.

The rest nodded affirmatively.

Nomination Three: Nothin' But A Thang

For her third nomination, Rachel took on a drama, without singing. She was nervous, and truth be told, somewhat diva-esque. Rachel totally disagreed with almost every interpretative decision the director made. Every choice became a battle. It didn't help that he brought a Slavic, chauvistic attitude to rehearsal with him, and Rachel despised his womanizing, and frankly, the man himself.

His wife just had a baby, after all.

Add to the fact the play centered on a junkie in New York, the daily environment was hardly upbeat. It was so far from musical theatre, you couldn't even see it from your front porch.

When the volatile director ultimately stormed off the set, Rachel approached the producers gingerly.

"I…um. I have a …suggestion." Rachel offered

"What a surprise."

"No, really. I may have a solution, for the director vacancy. It…Its an up and coming director. He just finished the Rep season at the Huntington Theatre to rave reviews."

"The Rep in Boston?"

"Yep. I have a scout who checked him out. I've known him for a long time. His name is Artie Abrams."

"Scouts? Rachel Berry has scouts, now?"

"Yes." Said Rachel, with a straight face. She declined to mention her "scout' was Santana, celebrating finals being over, having a beer with Artie on the south end.

"Isn't he that guy in the wheelchair?"

"Yes, why does that matter? That's shouldn't matter!" Rachel felt her umbrage growing.

"Calm yourself, Ms. Berry. If he's as good as you say, and he can get you to shut the hell up, great. And what's more…this screams National Endowment for the Arts funding for disabilities."

Of course, Artie was great, as billed. The cast respected him, immediately, his calm but firm demeanor inspiring. "Ain't Nothin' But a Thang" garnered Drama Desk Awards, Tony nominations – and it's brilliant young director brought home the Tony for Best Director.

Unfortunately, its emaciated star, once again, came home empty handed.

On the bright side, another Gleek joined them at the morning after breakfast. The owner of the Greasy Spoon joked he was going to put a "Rachel Berry lost here" plaque on the wall.

"Eh, Schwimmer. You actually did get robbed on this one. You should have won – but…"

J looked around meaningfully to Mike, Tina, Santana, Artie, and Kurt.

"…They just don't like uppity women. Bottom line: You were a bitch, you got the director fired. Rubbed people wrong. Remember, a woman didn't win for book and score until Cyndi Lauper in fucking 2013. 2013! W. T. and F."

She put a scoop of hash in her mouth.

"And eat a god damned French fry. I can see blood circulating in your veins, you're so thin. You're probably so bitchy 'cause you're hypoglycemic, Schwimmer. Plus it's making your nose look even bigger."

Santana leaned over to Kurt and whispered, "It's freaking me out a little bit – its as though Sue Sylvester joined our group."

"I heard that, plastic tits."

Santana scowled.

NOMINATION FOUR: So You Think You Can Dance! Broadway

The geeks were meeting at the 'Spoon, in their booth, that now actually did have a plaque put on it.

The usual suspects AND J were convened, including Santana, now a New Yorker again, quickly garnering a rep as a frightening prosecutor; and Mercedes, who scored a supporting role in a Jennifer Hudson vehicle, and her now-fiancée, Sam. Only three people knew that she scored this role against the casting director recommendations because of Rachel's influence and Santana's incredible ability to dig up dirt- on anyone. The third person, after Rachel and San, was Sam; who moved to New York with her, who instigated the glee-nepotism, coming to the two of them telling them of Mercedes' rejection after rejection with casting in L.A. and her bout with depression. Gleeks take care of their own.

The booth was definitely becoming more crowded.

Rachel looked expectantly at J.

"Well? Which one?"

Cassandra held two scripts in front of her, mulling thoughtfully.

"This one, is a no brainer. It's traditional Broadway. Classic. A nomination is a sure thing. Great score, great book. "

She leveled her eyes at Rachel.

"But the fact you aren't taking it outright, and asked me to consider this," she said pointing to the second script, "leads me to believe this is what you want to do."

"Well?"

"Well, I think this: you are a fantastic singer. You are a fantastic actress. You are an adequate dancer. You have some classical training, but not like the rest of the cast would have. You would be the weak link—not good for the lead actress. "

Rachel looked expectantly at Santana.

"Hey! Asian #1, back me up, here!" She said, looking at Mike.

"J is right, you would have to have a really patient – and skilled—choreographer."

"What the hell are you doing, #1 son?" Cassandra snapped. "Can't you help a sister?"

"I just signed on for the new Rob Marshall project. I'm booked."

"There you go, Schwimmer. Broadway choreographers are assholes. No offense, Asian #1. They are. They aren't going to be patient with you and your limitations. The one nice guy is taken."

She forked her egg. "So, I say, Script #1. What do you think, counselor tits?"

Santana narrowed her eyes. She spoke deliberately. "I reviewed the contract and the funding. I don't like the tiered incentives they put in Rachel's contract. I think some of the investments are shaky, at best. Don't like #1, from a purely business/legal standpoint."

Mercedes spoke up. "Damn Rachel, do you pay an agent and a lawyer? If so, Why? You always have J and Santana do their work for free."

"Babe, Santana is a good hearted public servant, didn't you know that?"

"About that- I might be quitting and setting up as a junior partner downtown. I might. Like later this month."

"Damn." The group murmured.

"So while you peons can still afford my opinion, here it is: Rachel, she's right. You're a shitty dancer. But, with the right choreographer, who knows you, and knows how to hide your flaws, you can pull off #2, which is a much more stable venture. You just need the right person to guide you."

On cue, eight set of eye trained on Cassandra July, mouth full of bacon.

"Oh, HELL no! Not on your BEST day, Schwimmer, are you talking me into that!"

XOXO

The subsequent consolation breakfast at the Greasy Spoon was an interesting affair. Cassandra July's return to the great white way was met with cautious optimism. C.J. 2.0 was a much better version. Choreographers were allowed to be impatient, and rude; as long as they were good. Which she was. In fact, her temperament was almost an asset.

The only person who was spared her scathing tongue was the lead. She got dressed down, plenty – just not embarrassed. And never in public.

They came a long way, together.

In her acceptance speech for best chorographer, Cassandra was so effusive and thankful to Rachel; Finn questioned Rachel for weeks afterwards if she ever "tapped" that. Rachel stopped dignifying that question after awhile.

And of course, the actress from Script #1, did, in fact, win that year. Unfortunately, the curtains had already closed on the production by the time she won.

NOMINATION FIVE: More, More, More!

Rachel championed this little "alt rock opera" to every producer she knew. Even with the great Rachel Berry attached, there were too many unknowns for people to stomach.

"They'd rather do Disney Vomits – On Ice."

"Why do you care about this so much, Schwimmer? I mean, who the fuck is this guy? How do you know this shit's any good."?

"Because she knows. That's how." Santana said, evenly. J was in their group, but she wasn't ONE of them- not yet.

"What, is she the great and powerful Oz? She knows…give me a break. Rachel Berry "knowing" is not going to shit out $25 million out of the sky, Counselor."

"No, but Auntie Tana IS. A lot of people owe me favors. That's worth twenty."

"We threw in 750K," Said Tina, gesturing around the table. "Carmen Thibeadeaux donated 150K. Rachel threw in a mill, on her own, too."

"That brings you up to 22. You're short three."

"Bitchy AND a math whiz. I threw in two." Santana said.

"So, you're short one."

"We're working on it." Rachel said.

Cassandra leaned across the table, inking "ONE MILLION DOLLARS. –C.S. July"

She glared at Santana. "You're not the only one who is owed a favor or two, Tits."

Artie and Sam let out a whoop.

"God damn, you people bug me. Whoever this 'Noah Puckerman' guy is, he better be worth it, or I will rip out all of your eyeballs. Even yours, Cohen-Chang."

And that is how Puck rejoined the group.

XOXOXO

The table had gotten too small, so Puck and Finn one afternoon helped Mr. Muccino put a small 3 seasons sunroom in, and the booth was physically moved to the room, complete with the plaque. It was the table to have, when the Glee Pack wasn't consoling Rachel, that is. The owner would rope off the room the day following every Tony award ceremony.

The renovation was just in time for the group to celebrate their collective wins, as producers, for More, More, More! As well as Puck's first win for book and score. The thing was a juggernaut, and became the little show that could. The investors easily doubled their return.

That was poor consolation the morning after. "Schwimmer, I got nothing for you. I don't know why you didn't win."

"Was she better?"

"Not on her best day."

NOMINATION SIX: 'Night, Mother.

Rachel decided it was time to go back to a straight drama. Her throat was raw, and frankly, she was tired. She was ready to be a piece of a puzzle, and not the whole pie.

Creating a buzz was the fact she, once again, pulled a rabbit out of her hat demanding that her co-star for her mother BE her mother.

Shelby took a leave of absence from coaching Vocal Adrenaline, and packed her and Beth up for the run. She would ultimately extend that leave, because she won the Tony for Best Supporting Actress, and surprise surprise! She could sing.

She was immediately cast in a revival of Wicked opposite Kristen Chenoweth for a limited engagement, beating out her own daughter for the part.

"Rachel…Kristen is not a spring chicken. They needed someone…"

"OLD." Interjected Santana, chewing.

"Berry, you're my favorite Jew" Puck said. "You know that. But look, this keeps Beth in the city longer, and your mom, too."

"Rach..I'm so sorry you lost. Really. I don't understand…" Shelby grasped Rachel's hand and squeezed.

She loved working with Shelby, and was so grateful to have her around. She was about to realize how important that was, momentarily.

Cassandra interrupted her. "Holy shit. Lurch has arrived."

Finn entered the diner, sweaty and red.

"You are all KINDS of nasty, Finn. Ew!" Mercedes waved.

"Sorry." He said, out of breath. "I ran here. Rach, you have to come. Now. There's been … well, it's your dad."

Rachel bolted after Finn, she turned around to face the group. "Stay here. Eat. I'll let you know if I need you." She left rushing after her husband.

Shelby rose, and Santana pulled her back down. "That means you too, Johnny-Come-Lately. It's her dad- she'll let us know."

Shelby shook her head. "No, honey, its not that. My instincts are going nuts. Something tells me…Rachel needs me. Something tells me to follow her."

"Wow, Spider Senses." Said Artie, in awe.

"Shelby, Rachel hasn't needed anyone since she was two years old. She probably toilet trained herself." Puck said, matter of factly.

"I don't know…something's …off."

XOXO

Rachel's emergency appendectomy caused her to miss her own father's Shiva. Rachel and Finn were tight lipped about what happened. Rachel had "fallen down their staircase" turning too quickly. It was the party line.

The gleeks couldn't help but notice the strain that developed between the two of them after, however. Things were never the same. Rachel never forgave Finn, for some reason, for not being able to say goodbye to her father.

When asked later by interviewers about which of her many losses were the worst, she said, without reservation, "Number six. Although I gained my mother, in a sense, I lost so much more. It's a bittersweet memory."

NUMBER SEVEN: You Never Can Tell.

Rachel needed easy. Light and Easy. This production was marshmallow fluff at its finest. A typical feel-good, Rom-Com, with Mike choreographing this time, and Tina as her best friend; and Kurt on wardrobe design. Puck even had a short run as the male lead while the real lead was out for paternity leave.

She didn't expect to win, and she didn't.

Kurt did, however, for his over the top designs. "Guess I learned more at Vogue than I did NYADA, huh?" he remarked.

Although it was simple, and even fun to come to work again, everything else was crap in her life. She and Finn were two strangers in the same house. Rarely did they have a kind word for the other.

"It's almost like Benny, and how he plays at day care." Commented Mercedes, referring to their toddler.

"What do you mean?" Artie asked.

"Well, its like how toddlers' play. You know, parallel play. They do activities and play next to each other – but never WITH each other."

"Well, Good Riddance to that deadweight, I say." J said, between bites. "Where's Mexican tits?"

"She mentioned picking someone up at the airport."

"Hmmm. Really? Who…well. Look who the cat dragged in."

The group looked, stunned, at the prim figure walking alongside Santana. Her suit was tightly pressed, almost to military crispness. Her horned rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, with a bun tightly quaffed not one hair out of place. The gravitas was not lost on the onlookers.

"Shit, losers. Haven't you ever seen a professor before?" Santana guffawed.

"I…we…"

"Holy…"

"This brings 'hot for teacher' to a whole new level!"

"PUCK!"

Rachel ran in to the sunroom, bumping in to Santana and her guest.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry, ma'am!" Rachel said, to the stoic blonde. She looked to the group, quickly apologizing. "Guys, I'm sorry I was late, Finn and I had a miscommunication about the…wait. What's wrong with you guys? You look like you've seen a …"

She swiveled her head towards their gaze.

Santana grinned.

"Allow me to introduce to the group...the new Quantum Physics section chair at Columbia University, Dr. Brittany Pierce." Santana beamed with pride.

Brittany took off her glasses and started laughing.

"No…it's Brittany, bitch."

XOXOXO

"So, now, wait. What the fuck? You graduated first in your class at MIT but had a D average at McKinley High… with these tools?" Said J, disbelievingly.

"I know, right?" Laughed Brittany.

It was an eventful breakfast. Brittany filled everyone in on her evaporated whereabouts; apparently, after graduating with honors, and then going to graduate school at MIT as well, she did some mysterious post-doc at Cold Springs Harbor; she then worked in Washington D.C. after but wouldn't elaborate on the specifics.

"Sorry I didn't call you guys. I wasn't really able to talk…to civilians."

She also confessed she didn't need glasses, but wore them to look smarter, since she wasn't Asian. Mike and Tina rolled their eyes. She was apparently also a Tony winner, having kicked in $7 million into Santana's kitty. Brittany had done very well for herself, having over 32 registered patents; and then, she decided she was through with it. She decided to work in academics for awhile, teaching math and physics. And maybe cheerleading. It was no coincidence that she landed in New York.

Shelby looked around the overflowing table. "Oh my god. It really is a New Directions reunion."

"Minus dipshit Finn," interjected Sanatana.

Shelby shot her a warning look.

"Yeah, about that. I don't think he'll be coming around anymore. We've…split." Rachel said, quietly.

"For good?" Puck clarified.

"Yes, Noah. For good."

Puck let out a whoop, and several members of the table stood up and high fived each other, Santana most enthuastically.

Rachel sat quietly. "Actually, we're missing someone…else. Someone important."

"Yeah, about that. Lord Tubbington sends his regrets. Something about 'once losers, always losers.'" Brittany confessed, whispering.

"No, not Lord Tubbington! Someone integral to the club, who defined us, in my mind-"

"Girl, I KNOW you aren't giving Mr. Shue that much credit. The only thing he defined was that he was an invertebrate, giving you all the solos!" Kurt laughed.

"Truth." Said Mercedes, giving him a fist bump.

"Guys, think! Ohmigod, really? Quinn. We're missing Quinn." Rachel said, voice almost inaudible.

A collective Oh yeah! Fell over the group.

Cassandra July almost chocked on her bagel, mid bite. "What. The. Fuck. Are you telling me that Her Royal Highness, Lucille, the Duchess of Cambridge is…is….

"None other than Lucy Quinn Fabray, card carrying gleek. Yep."

"What the hell goes on in Lima, Ohio?" Cassandra remarked.

"It is a little strange. In any other town, any of us would be the biggest thing going. But oh no, we lived with her royal highness. Who is definitely too good for us commoners." Santana said, bitterly.

Brittany explained to Cassandra, "this is a testy issue. She beat San out for head cheerleader, she nudged out Mike and Artie for valedictorian, and she had sex with Rachie, broke her heart, and left for England."

"WHAT?" A dozen pair of eye turned to Rachel.

"Oh my god. Didn't everyone already know that?" Brittany said. "Oops, I…did it again."

She started singing a few bars of the classic. It didn't cause the diversion Brittany hoped.

In fact, no one was talking. At all.

"Have I mentioned I'm thinking about going to Hollywood next month? Disney called." Rachel said, with a wan smile.

TBC!


	3. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Duchess of Cambridge…

Title: The Shell Collector.

Pairing: Quinn Fabray/Rachel Berry, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Santana Lopez/Various Hotties

Rating: WARNING! Yep, I went there. M/NC-17 ratings.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, these characters, anything to do with Disney (other than a few DVDs- full disclosure), nor the Academy Awards, the British monarchy, Tony's or TMZ. I own very little, actually. This is strictly for fun, is non-profit, and meant only for the well being and warm fuzziness it will inspire in Glee Femslashers everywhere. (Grandiose, much?)

Summary: Hitting a brutal reality check while walking the red carpet on Oscar night, Rachel wonders how she found herself here, and how to find herself again. This is the story of how she does just that.

A/N: This is my first fic not based on a prompt of any type. This is just a plot line that has allowed me to vent a few issues rolling around in my head that need personal airing out.

CHAPTER NEXT: Ladies and Gentlemen, the Duchess of Cambridge…

Quinn smiled demurely while cameras flashed around her.

"Princess Lucielle! Over here!"

Flash.

"Your highness, how 'bout a smile?"

Flash.

"Are ye ready to be Queen?"

Flash.

Quinn handled it with a maturity and class that the British press hadn't expected. Despite their practiced cynicism, the reality was, they loved being surprised. She exceeded everyone's expectations, and had been a media hit since the day she landed. Quite frankly, they never expected to love her.

It wouldn't have been the first time the bar was set too low for Quinn in her life.

So now that she found herself in this frenzied swirl of attention at her unexpect ascent to the throne, the media loved this story. Fairybook princess from Nowhere, Ohio in America… was now destined to become Queen—it was so Hollywood.

It was unfortunate tragedy had set this stage.

It had been 18 months since her brother-in-law and his bride died in the plane crash. Quinn's husband, the prince, confided in Quinn that his brother had not really passed his pilots license examination; his passing the exam was more of a wink wink, nudge nudge, as many things go with the very privileged.

Inclement weather struck, and the rest was history.

Or should we say, history repeats itself, mused Quinn.

Suddenly, the once previously unknown commoner from America was getting ready to take the stage on the grandest scale, in England. The fashion magazines and gossip rags alike twittered nonstop since the downing of the Cessena.

Could she do it? Yes. Had she won them over? Of course.

She was hailed as "This Generation's Grace Kelly."

Her Royal Highness, Lucielle, former the Duchess of Cambridge, now the Princess, had unknowingly trained for this job throughout her entire childhood. Despite her degree from Yale, her selection as an Oxford Scholar, and her many other varied talents, Lucy Quinn Fabay ultimately fell into the family business: the profession of being a high society wife.

And she hated every second of it.

When the Queen was commenting to her how fabulously she had done at the Prince's Trust Event the past week, Quinn steeled her nerves. In her head, she thought, That's because I don't give a fuckin' shit about it. Its easy to go through the motions if you have no emotional investment whatsoever. Out loud, she said demurely,

"That's very kind of you to say. I feel I could have done better."

Give them what they want, Fabray.

She smiled and waved at the onlookers, two of whom fainted from excitement.

XOXOXO

Quinn even acquiesced to her mandated duties as baby-mama of the Kings. Four times a month, while she was ovulating, she would grit her teeth, drink some wine, and let her husband put his sperm in her.

Call me the incubator, she thought.

She was successful within their first year of marriage, having a son with a head full of blonde hair, looking like a direct spud off Quinn and void of any royal blood whatsoever. Thank God, thought Quinn. At least he won't be ugly like his grandfather.

Everyone was in awe of the American royal. Once, one of the Prince's polo teammates, gazing a tad too longingly at HRH Lucielle, said to him, "God, your lady is soooo fucking hot. How do you not fanny about with her, all day?"

"Well, its not too hard, mate. She keeps the fanjeeta locked up tighter than Gringotts."

"Wha? You don't think she's a fanny basher, do ya?"

"Quinn?" He laughed bitterly. "I should think not. That implies she would like to have sex…with anyone. No, Quinn is just…so fucking perfect. I feel like a pervert every time I mount her. She makes us pray if I try to have more sex than-"

Turning red, he decided to stop that line of discussion.

Some things should remain private. Like the fact he was madly in love with a wife who could care less if he was alive or dead.

XOXOXO

Quinn ran in the direction of her screaming son. The one area that Quinn refused to follow the script on, was child rearing. Apparently, she was expected to pop out a kid and then turn them over to the Palace Staff to groom appropriately into the heir apparent.

Quinn would have none of that.

She gave up one child, she wasn't giving away another. She was decidedly hands-on, endearing her even more to the British Commonwealth. Rumor circulated that she even changed diapers with her own hands! Was there nothing Lucille could not do?

The crux of the controversy of her five year old's son mishagas, was that his tutor refused to let him watch a "girl's movie."

"Entirely inappropriate for a young man. He should be watching boy movies."

Quinn dismissed him firmly from his charge, instructing the tutor to dig up earthworms along the grounds of the building and return when he found 200 or more, for a suitable, "boy-like" activity.

He shot daggers from his eyes, and set off to do his charge.

Eyes twinkling, she looked at her son. "Well, lets pop in this controversial DVD and see what this deviant movie is all about. What's this rated? Rated G? Oh, ho! I can see the controversy already."

"Will you watch it with me, Mama?"

"Of course. Tell me about this banned and disturbing film."

"It's nice. It's about a boy who meets a girl and she becomes a Princess. Or she is a princess. And then she becomes a frog. Then a princess again. I think. It's sort of like you and Daddy, mama, except this time, he's the commoner-er…"

The little boy blushed immediately.

Quinn laughed, and hugged him. "Honey, its fine. It's the truth. I am a commoner. But that doesn't mean I'm common…very different things, honey."

"I love you, Mama. Now let's watch." He said, impatiently.

"Sounds great, sweetie. Now, why do you want to see this so much?"

"Mama, the princess…she's pretty."

Quinn looked down at his earnest eyes, and with a twinge of jealously, realized her young son had his very first crush.

"Well let's have a look at her." Quinn said, lips tightening.

XOXOXO

All of the air had been sucked out of the playroom, because Quinn was certain she would die of suffocation.

The beautiful Princess?

Her son's first crush?

Rachel Barbara Berry.

It must run in the genes. Quinn finally took a breath. Thank god she was watching it with a self-absorbed five year old, because anyone with a brain would know that Quinn's hyperventilation was not completely natural.

"You think she's pretty, too, huh Mama?"

Scratch that, she realized. I'm totally transparent.

"You okay, Mama? Your hands are shaking."

"I probably just need to eat something, sweetie." Pulling her son into her lap, she finished. "Come sit on Mama's lap, and lets watch the rest of this thing—we'll see if she gets her Prince."

"I'm a Prince, Mama."

"I know that, dear."

"Oh, okay. Do you think Princess Gwen would like our place?" He said, looking around the playroom.

Quinn absentmindedly followed his gaze. "Probally not. It's … not what she's looking for."

"Oh. Okay. Can we make it what she's looking for?"

"I don't think so, son. But let's watch and see what happens."

XOXOXO

Mother and Son sat on the futon, weeping openly. The chambermaid, entering to announce dinner, burst out laughing.

"Dinner's rea- what the -? A fine pair you two are! Blubbering away. What are you watching?"

"The Princess and the Prince. The Disney film."

"Oh, I looove that…I love that little Rachel Berry! Got a set of pipes on her, she does. She's up for an Academy Award, tonight, you know."

"What?" Quinn sat upright, tumbling the little prince off her lap. "When?"

"To-night." The servant said, peculiarly. "Isn't that sort of an American thing? Don't you pay attention to that anymore?"

"Obviously not. Damn! I didn't even know she was in a movie!"

"One pound in the swear jar, Mama!"

Quinn scrolled through her iphone. "It is tonight! I'm going to have to stay up till one am, damn-it-to-hell!"

"Two pounds."

She called her assistant. "Becky! Clear my calendar for tomorrow morning… and afternoon. I'm going to be up late tonight. Thanks." She looked at her son. "I love you, baby. Go pee and wash your hands before supper. Mama has to go get her laptop."

Quinn absent mindedly raced from the room, leaving her son and the maid behind. "What's got into her?" She asked.

"I don't know…but she owes me three pound!"

XOXOXO

Quinn skipped dinner, raising a few eyebrows. In fifty short minutes, she caught up on all things Rachel Berry, including, to her satisfaction, her separation and divorce from Finn Hudson.

That Git, thought Quinn. He managed to fuck up the only good thing about himself- his wife.

Quinn had tried to distance herself from all things American; her husband thought it was to immerse herself in this incredibly demanding lifestyle and avoid distraction. However, the truth was, Quinn knew it was all or nothing, like heroin. She wouldn't be able to handle even one little reminder…one taste of Rachel. It would be too painful, and then she'd be consumed, again. So she cut everyone off that could be a potential reminder, even her dear friends, Santana and Brit. It was the only way.

Clear boundaries, she pledged. And she stuck to it, and maintained those walls, and was successful. It wasn't a passionate life, but it was okay. She hated most of it, but she functioned. She recognized that most people would kill for her life, which was ironic. Quinn functioned, immersing herself in becoming Lucille of Cambridge, and it worked.

Until today.

Becky, Quinn's haggard assistant, entered her study calmly, bringing a tray of dinner.

"So…I hear we're quite the Oscar fan, are we?"

"Sort of."

"You alright, Quinn?"

"I don't know."

Becky chewed her lip. She wasn't use to this much…emotion…emoting off of Quinn all at once.

"Ma'am, you're..um. You're scaring me a little bit. You're not having a nervous breakdown, are you?"

Quinn laughed. "I don't know, Becky. Maybe."

"Want me to ring the doctor?"

"What? No! God. No…Becky, I want you to get some snacks and get ready to watch the 92nd or whatever annual Academy Awards with me. Can you?"

Becky was stunned, but she wasn't going to miss this Quinn for a million bucks.

"Of course, ma'am. Popcorn and Swedish Fish?"

"And Bacon Pizza, please." She grinned.

XOXOXO

"Look. There she is…. Oh my god, that dress…she's still so beautiful."

"Still? You know her, Lucielle?"

"What?" Quinn said, in a daze.

"How do you know her? Did you see her on Broadway or something? I did! I saw her when she did that More More More. She was great. A little thing, she is!"

"I know." Quinn said far away.

Becky looked at her expectantly and Quinn continued. "No, I didn't see her on Broadway, although I should have. I was …too stubborn."

There was silence. Becky, however, was not going to let this go.

"So, where did you see her? A charity party?"

"No…no, nothing like that. Rachel and I …we're…we…."

Now Becky was getting alarmed. Quinn was at a loss for words. She finally cleared her throat. "Actually, Becky, I was the maid of honor at her wedding."

"Whaaa?! Get out of here. "

The two women were silent.

Calculating something deeper lying beneath the hazel eyes of her boss, Becky tactfully decided to lighten the mood.

"Well, she could have returned the favor!" Becky said slowly. "It would have been nice to have her at the palace. She would have looked a lot better than that pregnant Lady Kate! Imagine, Rachel Berry at the palace. Huh."

She looked over at her boss, who was lost in her own thoughts. I wish I knew was Lucielle was thinking right now, thought Becky.

Thank god Becky wasn't privy to those thoughts. The beautiful royal's current line of thinking would have set a new bar for Becky 's sense of "alarmed."

XOXOXO

"Ohhh….fuck! Oh, God Rachel, Oh God, just fuck me. Fuck me!"

A bead of sweat ran down Quinn's temple, and her muscles strained as she thrust her pelvis harder into Rachel's attentive mouth.

Their bodies were naked, sweaty, and intertwined in one another's in Rachel's room. This wasn't the first time they had been together, but it was definitely the first time it was so ….heated.

Rachel's parents were away for three days, and the two women knew what they were doing when Rachel invited Quinn over to "hang out."

There would be no brakes, no premature closure, nothing to stop them…this time.

Quinn's fisted hand was gripping Rachel's chestnut hair in a death grip, and Rachel moaned with the taste of Quinn, ripe and opening up to her.

"You taste fucking amazing, Quinn."

"DON'T take your mouth off me, Rach, please! I need this…oh god, I need you." Quinn guided Rachel's head forcefully back to the center of her core, pleading.

"Rachel, I need your mouth on me. In me…"

Rachel flipped her head up, looking at Quinn from between her legs. "I love a desperate Quinn…its so …hot." She then leaned down, pressing her face between the blonde's muscular legs. Rachel moaned, as she flicked her tongue back and forth across the hood of Quinn's clit.

Each swipe caused Quinn to fasciculate with a shudder. She threw her arms to her side in frustration, balling up her fists on the sheet.

"Please...please…"

"Please what? Please fill you?" Rachel taunted.

She set a deliberate swipe down the center of Quinn, where the opening was moist, to the point of dripping. Rachel smirked, taking her fingertip and swirling the moisture around, in lazy, circular patterns around her opening.

It was almost as though she was painting.

Rachel leaned up, hovering above Quinn, dragging her delicious breasts deliberately across the surface of the quivering blonde's body. Quinn groaned in agony.

Rachel stopped her ascent when she arrived at Quinn's breasts. She grasped onto her left nipple with her mouth, sucking, massaging, then sucking again. Quinn squirmed. Her nipples were roughened and erect, and she strained to get them further into Rachel's teasing mouth.

Rachel switched to the other side, ministering to the other breast, while dipping her finger in to Quinn's hole, lubricating the tips of her finger, then rubbing down…until she could feel the little forshette that was below Quinn's vagina.

Feeling Rachel's fingers travel somewhere unexpected, Quinn startled. "What…what are you doing, Rach?"

"You want me to fill you, don't you?" Rachel husked, rubbing tight circles around Quinn's anus. "You're wound so tight, I know your type. You want this. You want me to fill every part of you." She said dramatically, kissing Quinn hard, on the mouth.

Quinn groaned, and pulled Rachel closer.

"It's dirty. It's nasty. Who would ever think you would be so nasty…? And you know what? You're so wet, Quinn. You want me to do this to you."

Quinn felt herself getting wetter, if that was even possible.

Rachel reached over, pulling a small silver bullet-looking thing from her dresser. She pressed a button, and Quinn could hear a small quiet hummmmmm…

"What are you doing with thaa- ohhhh…my fucking God…." Rachel had pressed it against the tip of her clit. "Holy shit!"

"Indeed." Agreed Rachel.

Having doused her hand in the copious secretions of Quinn Fabray and her untouchable pussy, Rachel smiled wickedly. "Open your eyes, Quinn. I want you to see me when I do this to you. I want you to see who is filling you, so deeply…."

Rachel thrust her top two fingers in Quinn's opening while sliding her bottom two into the virginally tight pink forshette opening of her anus.

Rachel felt the tight pucker give way, and as she pushed past Quinn's inner ring, she felt Quinn shudder and give way.

Quinn was letting out choking noises, almost incoherently.

"Ohhh, wow. You're so fucking tight, Quinn. This feels so good, penetrating you… Do you feel me, entering you, Quinn? Do you? That's me, fucking you, Quinn. Quinn, did you hear me?"

No. Quinn has died. She thought abstractly.

Rachel was methodic and relentless. She slid her hand in, and out, slowly entering her tender openings for the first few times.

It didn't take long for Quinn to get the hang of it, and relax to allow Rachel full access. Rachel gasped as she felt Quinn's pussyhole gape open, and Rachel added her thumb in, too…she started to twist into Quinn's opening as she entered her, sending of an entirely new wave of spasms through Quinn's body.

Quinn spread her legs wider, trying to give Rachel more access. Short moments after that, Rachel was jackhammering into Quinn, like it was her J-O-B. Quinn wondered abstractly if it was possible to die from something feeling so damn good.

"You're so fucking tight…." Rachel groaned. Her voice was lower than Quinn ever heard before.

Quinn's hips bucked upwards, towards Rachel's deliberate hand in her.

Rachel pushed the silver bullet harder against Quinn's swollen clit. "…but I feel you opening up for me, Quinn. You fucking need me to fill you…don't you, Quinn Fabray?"

"Ngggggh." Was all Quinn could say. Quinn was reduced to making wild, guttural noises, losing all coherence and the ability to communicate.

It turned Rachel on, so friggin' much. Her nips were hard as rocks. She was doing this to Quinn…to Quinn Fabray. Naked. Lying beneath her, helpless. Begging her, Rachel, to finish her. Quivering at her very touch.

So. Fucking. Hot.

And powerfully addicting.

Rachel could feel the burn in her arm, which she ignored because she could also feel the need from between Quinn's legs. The feel of Quinn's walls clenching against her fingers…Quinn's walls trying to milk them...

Every time they had been together before, it was gentle kisses and light touches. Tender. Loving. It never predicted this…this raw, hard, nasty sex they were now having.

Quinn had no idea Rachel would be such a dominant, wild woman in bed.

She had suspected how her body would react to Rachel, when and if they ever got to this point; but it had in no way prepared her for this. This was a tidal wave of emotion and Quinn was sure she would drown.

The blonde involuntarily clenched hard at her opening, creating a vice-like seal around Rachel's fingers, one last time. "Oh, Godddddd!" Wailed Quinn, bucking up and down on the bed. Rachel thought her wrist would snap in two. It was a swell of emotion, feeling, light, sound; it resulted in Quinn Fabray having her first ever, bona-fide, orgasm. All courtesy of the immense talents of one Miss Rachel Barbara Berry.

Rachel would make Quinn come four more times that night.

After five rounds for Quinn, with some serious bed head, and a giggle in the air, she turned to Rachel. Eyes unfocused, Quinn grinned in her general direction. "I think we're going to have to wash your sheets, Miss Rachel Berry."

Rachel chortled.

I love it when she laughs, thought Quinn.

"Naah. We need to burn these sheets, actually. I don't think they'll be used again, after today." Rachel replied. They giggled.

Quinn, with tremendous effort, shifted on top of Rachel. Stroking her cheek gently, she fixed her hazel eyes on the girl underneath her.

"Well…not until we take care of something else… first."

She leaned down, giving Rachel a savory kiss, with a deliberate swipe of her tongue on Rachel's lower lip. Rachel involuntarily let out a small shiver.

"I believe I owe you a round ….or two."

"Or five." Rachel corrected.

Quinn grinned, shaking her head, and leaned in to kiss the girl she loved, who loved her back…in spite of ….everything. Could life get better?

It was almost like a real-life fairy tale, Quinn thought to herself, pressing a kiss into Rachel, again.

TBC!


End file.
